The Michael Aftermath
by NatashaKay
Summary: One shot. The begin of a one-sided romance on Sebastian's part for someone who plays for the other team. What Would Michael Jackson Do? Based after episode 11 of season 3.


**Here is a one-shot after watching season three's 11th episode, which I thought was by far, _the best_ episode written, produced and directed. It was wonderful writing this out, and although I do ship Brittana, Sebastian and Santana's occurrence in this week's episode blew my mind away, especially with the _Smooth Criminal_ duet.**

**I do not own anything of Glee; make no money from the stories; the characters and their lines belong to the creators, producers, and scriptwriters. Any events related to real life are purely coincidental. **

**Hope you enjoy my story!**

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><p>Sebastian fumbled with his Dalton blazer, slender fingers popping the buttons from its holes. With a frustrated sigh, he flopped down onto his bed, eyes boring into the ceiling. Today was not part of the plan; that Latino fox had not been what he had expected.<p>

It had been an extremely long and taxing week for Sebastian Smythe. Random calls and texts had been exchanged, just to spite the girly-man of a guy Blaine called his _boyfriend_, Kurt. Upon finding out that the lame-ass New Directions were planning to do _Michael_ for Regional's, the gears in Sebastian's cunning head spun and soon, he was taking action to the little plans formed in his scheming head.

First plan of action was to take over the Warblers, of course. That was practically putty in his hands, because he knew, next to Nick Duval, he -Sebastian Smythe- was the best soloist in the team. He was not content with singing backup and standing right behind during performances, preferring to be centre stage. It only took a mere three days to convince the team to abolish the stupid rule that allowed three senior upperclassmen to dictate what goes on with the Dalton Academy Warblers. Sebastian only took that opportunity to appoint himself as the captain of the team after that, and to also to make himself the new lead singer.

The next plan was to prepare a set list to sing at Regional's against the New Directions. Since finding out that ND were doing _Michael_, it was only easy enough to convince the Warblers to come up with a few numbers of their own. Many were enthusiastic about it; voices yelling over each other, wanting to be heard in the common room. Sebastian had smirked at that, thinking to himself, 'These idiots are practically tripping over their feet. Regional's is ours.'

Everything was going according to his plan. It was made even easier when Sebastian stumbled in on the New Directions' meeting in the Lima Bean later that day. He had only taken it to himself to announce that the Warblers themselves were doing _Michael_ for Regional's. He particularly enjoyed the uneasy look that Kurt had on his face when Sebastian told the group that it had indeed been Blaine who let slip that ND were planning on doing _Michael_ that very morning itself.

Sebastian kicked off his shoes, one thump following the other as they hit the floor. The sun was just about to set, and he was way off schedule for his evening run. Sitting up, he chuckled to himself as he replayed the retort he threw at Santana at the coffee house:

"Unless you wanna join your relatives in prison, that's probably not the best idea," he started, earning a challenging look from her. "You see," he continued. "My dad is sort of what you call a state's attorney, but if you have a piñata you wanted delivered, I bet he could make sure that got to them." That had made her shut her pretty lips and sit herself back down onto the couch. Her facial expression told him that she wanted to say more, but it had taken an immense amount of self-control not to.

'Maybe I had been a bit harsh and a tad racist,' the brunette thought as he warmed up his body in the foyer of his house. A stretch to the hamstring on both legs and a jog in place later, he set off for a planned 40-minute run around the neighbourhood. 'Perhaps it was too much of me to mention her relatives in prison?'

As he ran, Sebastian thought of the romp in the basement parking lot of the Ohio State Mall two nights ago when the Warblers and the New Directions performed a sing-off to Michael Jackson's _Bad_. He initially planned to put on a bored and uninterested facade, but Santana in a leather jacket? It took him an internal war with himself to keep on that composed face. Her long tan legs protruding from her cute cheerleader's outfit, the holier-than-thou attitude, full lips, angry eyes. _Damn_.

It had been stupid on his part, though, to think that only the two of them were to take on the Warblers on a sing-off. Blaine and Santana's telling smirks told him otherwise, as the rest of the New Directions strutted out from behind pillars and cars at the snap of the Latino's manicured fingers. He had raised his eyebrows at the _ridiculous_ get-up they wore. Black outfits and leather jackets? The little handicap in the wheelchair especially, with that look on his face. 'What a bunch of misfits.'

Right after their performance, Sebastian had slushie-d Blaine in the face, not counting on the former Warbler's cries of agony. 'A little too much in there, oops,' he had thought, a flash of nervousness marred his face. The Warblers had left immediately after that, Nick not heeding his warns to _not look back_.

'Chain me up to a metal pole in a storm, but nobody can make me admit how amazing they were,' had been Sebastian's last thought when he led the Warblers out of the parking lot that night.

As Sebastian jogged to a stop to catch his breath, he almost -just a tiny bit- felt bad for what he did to Blaine. 'Fuck.' It was intended for Kurt's perfectly moisturised face, but the shorter boy had stepped in just in time when Sebastian threw the icy drink forward. At least no one but him knew what he had added into the beverage just before throwing it in Blaine's face. His ass would be interrogated and his position within the Warblers would be jeopardised. A scratched cornea to the right eye _and_ surgery? He would be fucked over if anyone found out. 'Technically, it wasn't illegal,' he thought as he began to pick up a pace again. 'But surgery?'

Then there was yesterday; when Santana strutted into their Academy's auditorium in her gorgeous mid-thigh dress, booties and a fedora that made her look, well, _hot_. Her tone she used when the Warblers entered the room had made Sebastian uneasy, worse when she said knowingly, "Don't know if you heard, but Blaine may lose an eye." He had crossed his arms at that point, face uninterested when she continued:

"The _same_ Blaine that was just besties with most of you, not four months ago."

Trent -that idiot, Trent- then had to open his mouth and ask if Blaine was going to be okay. Sebastian had snapped at that point, his speak-only-when-spoken-to policy must've been deaf to that oaf's ears. Sebastian then had retaliated when she called him a liar, face so close to Santana's that he could smell her minty breath, and then demanded "satisfaction in Warbler tradition." No one, and especially this vixen of a girl, called him a liar! No, he _is not_ a liar, but chooses to hide the truth instead.

The _Smooth Criminal_ duet with Santana had been a dent in his ego for Sebastian. She was -as hard it was for him to admit it- superb, worthy even, of his praise. Their performance was amazing, and he sounded great with her as an equal, despite his prejudice against her type. Alright, _that_ was the only time he lied when she sneered," I was better." He was just afraid to admit that she in fact, was better. That was why he said, "Not even close," walked away, knowing she'd follow him, and proceeded to throw a slushie in her face.

Sebastian ran some more, perspiration dripping off his forehead. Shutting his eyes, he allowed his feet to carry him, the steady rhythm of his footfalls pounding in his ears. Regret was burning at his insides, throwing the slushie at Santana. Right now, though, he didn't care where his feet were bringing him; he just wanted this week out of his head.

Earlier today, his cell phone had vibrated during French, indicating a text message. He flipped open his phone, a grimace on his face as he waited for toad of a French teacher to turn her back to him before he read it.

_Come to McKinley after your school lets out. Bring the Warblers. Kurt_, the text read. He had thought with a roll of his eyes, 'What is it this time?'

And went to McKinley, the Warblers did. It felt strange, since the last time the Warblers had been here was for Blaine's _West Side Story_. 'And when I was still in good terms with Blaine.' After throwing the retort about "the stench of public schools," Sebastian immediately wanted to take back his words upon seeing the look on Santana's face change from a smirk to a frown. Quinn's bitchy comeback made him back off, taking a seat with the rest of his show choir team, nodding at the misfits, allowing them to explain the Dalton boys' presence in _a public school_.

Sebastian had to accept the fact that indeed, the New Directions understood Michael Jackson more than any show choir team can. Heck, even better than the Warblers could. The acceptance had then grown into a newfound respect for the McKinley show choir team after their _Black and White_ performance. What he hadn't expected the most was when his so-called _loyal_ teammates joined in; it had pissed him off tremendously especially more when Nick said, "C'mon, Sebastian, give it up!"

That angry feeling morphed into a stunned one when Santana produced a small cassette of tape recording from her jacket pocket. He deftly caught the cassette with a quick reflex of his hand when Kurt tossed it out to him, with Santana rubbing salt to a wound: "At least now your teammates know _exactly_ what kind of guy you are."

Panting for breath, Sebastian slowed to a jog, still allowing his legs to carry him further and further away from his neighbourhood. He looked around, registering to his surroundings, noting that the new neighbourhood he had entered was eerily quiet, save for a faint singing a few houses down the road. Slowing to a walk, he followed the singing, relatively growing louder as he approached a pastel beige house with a white trim. Hanging flowers adorned the front porch, rows of unidentified bushes sprouting yellow flowers lining the path leading up to the porch. The singing came from the back of the house.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Sebastian sidestepped the bushes and pushed the wooden gate leading to the back of the house, revealing an expansive backyard. Paper lanterns hung on trees, fairy lights strung on the surrounding fence. The singing -now much more distinct- belonged to a girl sitting at the back porch of the house, cradling a sleeping baby in her arms. Santana Lopez.

"Santana."

The McKinley cheerleader looked up. Upon seeing who it was that had called her, a sneer crossed her features, full lips turned down at the sides. "What do you want, Andrew McCarthy?" she whispered loudly, getting up to her feet. She turned back for a slight second, calling out, "Papi, can you take Miguel for a minute?"

An older, portly man with a moustache walked out onto the back porch, glanced menacingly at Sebastian, relieved the baby that must be Miguel from Santana's arms, and disappeared into the house again. 'Wow, very polite of him,' Sebastian sneer in his mind.

"Wipe that look off your face, twinkle toes," Santana said, snapping her fingers in his face. His eyes locked with hers, a smirk replacing the sneer. Then he noticed the proximity of them both.

She grabbed his forearm, dragging him through the wooden gate that he just walked through a minute ago, and led him out to the street. He followed her, her grip on his arm tight and strong.

Once they were on the sidewalk, she dropped his arm, crossed hers over her chest, and looked up at him with a face he could only describe as annoyed. "How did you know where I live? Were you _following_ me?"

"I was on a run, and I just stumbled into your neighbourhood," he said, gesturing to his sweat-soaked muscle T. With a raise of his eyebrows, he added, "You _did_ say you lived in Lima Heights. And no, I didn't follow you."

A look that admitted she did let slip out that she was indeed from Lima Heights crossed her face, and her eyes lowered to the ground before snapping up to his again. "Sure, that still doesn't explain what you're doing at my house." Santana waited for an explanation, eyebrows raised, signalling for him to answer.

"Like I said, I stumbled in," Sebastian said with a small chuckle. "Is that so hard to believe?"

She shook her head twice in annoyance. "Whatever, alright? I'm done dealing with the likes of you, clown face." She turned away and walked towards her house.

He grabbed her arm, gently pulling her back, and crashed his lips on hers. He didn't know what expression she was wearing, but he was sure it was one of shock, eyes wide with surprise. He himself was shocked when she responded by returning the kiss, deepening it further, her body pressed against his.

Sebastian pulled back, one hand cupping her face, the other on her waist. He stared into eyes of dark chocolate, not filled with annoyance anymore, but something more. Then he said, "I'm sorry for this week. For everything; for slushie-ing you and Blaine, for turning the Warblers against the New Directions, for pissing you off, for making you take 'the high road' when I know you just want to decapitate me the moment I opened my mouth in the Lima Bean."

Her eyes searched his, mouth agape, speechless. She could feel his heart pounding fast under her hand on his chest.

He leaned down, daring himself, and planted another kiss on her lips and finally, "I'm sorry for being a jerk to you especially." Then he just held her against his body, hugging her tight. He could feel her hands bunching the fabric of his shirt in her fists as she leaned her head on his chest.

"I can't," she whispered softly.

'What?' Sebastian's eyes flew open. 'I like you, Santana! You're feisty and fierce and you don't let anyone tell you what to do!' He cried at her in his head, hoping the telepathy would reach her.

She whispered again, slightly louder, "I can't, Sebastian. I'm sorry."

Sebastian. That was the first time he heard her say his name, and it wasn't laced with hatred or anger. He held her in an even tighter embrace, refusing to accept her apology.

Santana pushed back, and looked up at him, gazes interlocked. "I-I- I'm into someone else." She looked down at her shoes.

"Who?"

"Brittany."

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><p><strong>Let me know what you think by reviewing!<strong>

**Much love,**

**Kayy.**


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